


If for Want of One Man

by gildatheplant



Category: The Terror (TV 2018)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-25
Updated: 2020-08-23
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:27:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25515760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gildatheplant/pseuds/gildatheplant
Summary: Thomas Hartnell is not killed by the gunshot. For the lives of a few, it changes everything.
Relationships: Thomas Hartnell/Lt Edward Little, Thomas Hartnell/Thomas Jopson, Thomas Jopson/Lt Edward Little
Comments: 13
Kudos: 45





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've posted this on Tumblr and thought, what the hey, I'll post on here too. Sure I'm two years late to The Terror party, but I've got a pile of ideas. Rewatching the show recently, I was kind of amazed how rich a character Tom Hartnell is, yet for some reason he has so few fanfics compared to others. I'd like to change that. Right now I'm testing the waters, but if people are interested in more, I have an idea for a second chapter, which would be from Edward Little's perspective.

The sound of the shot rang clear through the sky, so loud that it almost drowned out the pain that blossomed through Tom’s arm. He stumbled back, but before he could slip on the jagged stones beneath his feet, he felt the Captain’s hands around him, steadying him. More than that, Crozier has turned them so Tom’s body is shielded by his own.

“Let me have a look, Tom.” Crozier’s voice is calm, reassuring as he gently pries Tom’s right hand off the wound on his left arm. “Deeper than a graze, for sure, but clear through. Some stitches back at camp will do it.”

Tom nods, swallows down his shock and forces what words he can out, “Yes, sir.”

“Mr. Hickey wants Crozier to come with us,” des Voeux’s voice cuts through the moment. He’s trying to sound confident, intimidating, but there’s a quaver to his voice that gives Tom pause. Maybe he feels guilty for shooting him? Tom can only hope that there’s compassion left in at least some of the mutineers.

Crozier turns to look at the mutineers, but he keeps his body blocking Tom, “Give me a moment to bind his wound. If you let Hartnell and Little go, I’ll come with you willingly. No struggle.”

The captain’s already pulled a piece of cloth from his pocket and begun wrapping it around Tom’s arm, before des Voeux responds to his words with an imperious, “Very well.”

Lt. Little has inched towards them, eyes still on the mutineers, but words only for Crozier, “Captain, you can’t go with them. The men need you.”

Crozier shakes his head, “We’re out-numbered, Edward, and Tom’s injured. My going with them is the only way for the two of you to escape.”

Tom shakes his head in horror, whispers hoarsely, “Please, sir, don’t sacrifice yourself for-”

The captain cuts him off, puts a gentle hand on his shoulder and looks him straight in the eyes, “You’ve done well. You’ve done so well, son. I want you to live.” He turns his firm gaze on Lt. Little, “I want you both to live. Let me hear it.”

Little’s voice comes out choked, “We will live.”

Des Voeux’s patience is clearly running thin, “Alright, enough! Hurry up Captain!”

Crozier gives them both one last look, “Keep heading south. And take care of each other, that’s an order.” Then he turns away and heads over to the mutineers.

It’s Lt. Little who moves first. He puts his arm around Tom and starts leading him back toward camp. The walk back is a blur. Lt. Little says nothing, no doubt lost in his own thoughts as Tom is.

Lt. Les Vesconte and a few others hurry to meet them. The grey haired lieutenant looks them over with grim concern, “Where is the Captain?”

Lt. Little’s face twists in disgust, the first show of anger Tom’s seen from him all day, “Golding betrayed us to the mutineers. They captured the Captain and shot Mr. Hartnell. We need to stitch up his arm.”

There’s a moment of quiet as the others digest this new, awful, information. Lt. Les Vesconte clears his throat, “Right, Lt. Little, we need to have a meeting, now. Mr. Hartnell, there’s room in Lt. Jopson’s tent, have a seat there and we’ll send someone to stitch your arm.”

“Yes, sir.” Tom says. He realizes that Lt. Little still has his arm around him, and it seems the older man hesitates before letting him go.

“Get some rest, Mr. Hartnell.” Lt. Little says softly, before heading after Lt. Les Vesconte.

Tom staggers into Lt. Jopson’s tent. The other man appears fast asleep, but when Tom sits down on the cot opposite him, his bleary eyes open. “Captain?”

A wave of guilt overcomes Tom, moving him to kneel next to Jopson, “I’m sorry, sir, the Captain was captured by Hickey’s men... It’s me, Tom Hartnell.”

Jopson reaches out a thin, pale hand. Tom takes it in both of his, holding it gently. “Don’t worry, sir. I’m sure Lt. Little will lead the men to the mutineers camp and rescue the Captain. Maybe we’ll be able to rescue Dr. Goodsir too. I know he never would’ve sided with Hickey.”

The lieutenant’s eyes slowly close and Tom gently lowers his hand to his chest. He carefully tucks the other man’s blankets around him. He’s just sitting down on his own cot, when Lt. Little steps in. Tom feels his stomach drop to his feet at the look on Lt. Little’s face. Something has gone terribly wrong.

“Sir?”

The older man looks down at him, clearly struggling with his emotions. When he finally speaks, his voice sounds like he’s swallowed broken glass. “The others have voted. They don’t want to rescue the Captain. They want to continue south. Without the sick.”

Tom shakes his head in horror, “We can’t abandon the sick. There’s still hope! If we can rescue the Captain and Dr. Goodsir, we could save the sick, I’m sure of it!”

The lieutenant runs a hand through his hair and sighs in frustration, “That’s what I tried to tell them, but no one will listen to me.”

“I’ll go with you, sir.” 

Lt. Little looks at him in shock, “What?”

An idea is forming in Tom’s head, and a sense of surety he hasn’t felt in a long time overtakes him, “You and I, sir. Under cover of night. We’ll sneak into the mutineers camp. Rescue the captain, Goodsir too, if we can find him.”

“What do we tell the others? They expect us to haul with them.”

Tom scoffs, “We tell them that we have no intention of abandoning the sick, that’s what we tell them.” He raises his chin, “Captain’s orders.”

The lieutenant’s dark eyes stare into his for a moment, before a slow smile turns up the corners of his lips. “That’s the spirit, Hartnell. By God, that’s the spirit.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: This chapter will be from Edward Little eyes. Also, I have a lot of ideas about this story (some I may add and some I will save for a different story), but keep an eye on the tags because they're likely to change as the story goes. Thanks to everyone who commented and gave kudos!

It was up to Edward to stitch up Mr. Hartnell's arm. The others were too busy getting ready to leave camp to offer any help. A part of him wanted to judge them for it, call them cowards and traitors... But he knew well he had no right. When the others had told him their plan to abandon the Captain and the sick, he'd been frustrated and disgusted, but also resigned. What could he do but follow them? He couldn't save the Captain, or the sick, or Jopson...poor, dear Jopson, who he knew deep inside would never contemplate abandoning him, even as Edward braced himself to do just that to Jopson.

That was until he spoke with Mr. Hartnell.

The younger man's faith that they could save the day gave him a sense of optimism he hadn't felt since Jopson's promotion.

Now, the younger man was stoically staring forward as Edward finished cleaning his wound and prepared to make the first stitch. Edward had never sewed anything in his entire life, let alone _skin_ but he remembered clear as day watching Mr. Blanky's leg get stitched up...watching Goodsir stitch up poor butchered John Irving... watching Hartnell himself sew James Fitzjames' funeral shroud closed. Edward forced himself to push those dark thoughts away. He would not fail Thomas Hartnell as he had the others. 

"Would you like something to bite down on?" Edward held out a belt he'd found.

Mr. Hartnell nodded, his voice soft and rough, "Thank you, Sir."

Edward waited until Mr. Hartnell had the belt between his teeth. Then, as gently as he could, he pushed the needle into Mr. Hartnell's skin. He heard the younger man's breath hitch, but forced himself to continue. Stitch. Stitch. Stitch. Slowly, carefully, the wound came together. When the last stitch was tied, Edward finally looked up at Mr. Hartnell's face. It was stained with tears, his jaw biting hard at the leather in his mouth, and his eyes were squeezed tight. For a moment he thought to reach out and wipe the younger man's tears, but realized such an intimate gesture was too much. Instead, he put down the needle and started wrapping Tom's arm with a clean bandage.

"It's all done, Mr. Hartnell."

Mr. Hartnell blinked his eyes open, then reached a shaking hand up to pull the belt from his mouth. "Thank you, Sir."

"You're welcome, Mr. Hartnell. Now rest awhile, alright? I'm going to scavenge what things I can for tonight." Edward helped Mr. Hartnell lie down as comfortably as he could, before leaving the tent.

After the incident with the gun stores and the mutineers, Captain Crozier had been very careful to hide a few extra weapons in a crate he kept in his tent, known only to himself, Captain Fitzjames, Jopson and Edward. He'd been honoured, frankly, that the Captain had put such trust in him after how badly he'd messed up before. Now, Edward hurried to the tent and grabbed the crate, saving his strength by dragging it rather than trying to lift it to Hartnell and Jopson's tent.

"Little!" Les Vesconte's voice cut through the air, and Edward turned to see the other lieutenant hurrying toward him. Edward lowered the crate and stood up to face him.

"We're almost ready to head out. Will Mr. Hartnell be coming with us?"

Edward steeled his nerves. He made his voice firm and his eyes hard, "No, Mr. Hartnell will not be joining you. Nor will I."

Les Vesconte's voice was almost a growl, "God damn it, Edward! The sick are going to die. There's nothing you can do for them. Worry about saving the men who have a chance!"

Edward shook his head, "I am going to stay with the sick. You can choose to stay too or you can leave. _But you will not change my mind._ "

He bent down and grabbed the edge of the crate with both hands, dragging it once more. If Les Vesconte tried to respond, Edward did not hear.

Inside the tent, both Jopson and Hartnell were sleeping. There were some hours still before it would be dark enough to sneak up on the mutineers' camp, and Edward knew he should get some rest. He leaned his arms against the crate and rested his head upon it. Awkward, but it would prevent anyone from sneaking in and trying to take it. Edward had little trust for the others now. Exhaustion dragged him down and he drifted off. 

It didn't last.

A grinding, scraping sound woke him out of his dazed slumber. He didn't need to move to see the boats being hauled away through the tent flaps. Edward began to close his eyes once more, when he heard a pained whisper, "Captain?"

He jolted upright and looked to Jopson's bed. The sickly man was struggling to sit up, but stopped and turned when he noticed Edward. "Where's he going?"

Edward reached out, gently supporting Jopson, so he could sit up. "Where is who going, Jopson?"

"The Captain. Why is he leaving us?"

Edward shook his head, "The Captain didn't leave us, Jopson. Those men were just Les Vesconte and a few others." He hated to lie to the man, but he wanted to give him some hope, "They're just going ahead of us to set up a new camp."

Jopson's bleary eyes looked up at him, "Where's the Captain?"

Edward's voice caught in his throat. Not for the first time, he realized how close Jopson and the Captain were, more like father and son than master and servant. How was he supposed to deliver the awful truth to Jopson? It turned out he didn't have to.

"Don't worry Lt. Jopson, sir. The Captain was taken by Hickey, but Lt. Little and I have a plan to rescue him."

Jopson squirmed in Edward's arms to look at Mr. Hartnell, "Rescue? I need to...I need to help."

Edward shook his head, "The best way for you to help, Jopson, is to take care of yourself. Drink some water, get lots of rest, regain your strength."

Mr. Hartnell crouched next to them, a cup of water held out, "Here, sir, take some sips." He gently pressed the cup to Jopson's lips and waited patiently as the man drank. When he was finished, Hartnell pulled the cup away and Edward gently laid him back down on the cot.

Hartnell stood up, "I'm going to check on the others." 

Alone now with Jopson, Edward focused on making him as warm and comfortable as possible. He was full to bursting with guilt. Were it not for Mr. Hartnell, Edward would have left with the others and Jopson would have woken up alone, thinking that Captain Crozier had abandoned him. "I'm sorry, Jopson."

He looked up at the sickly man's pale face and glassy eyes. In a small voice, Jopson croaked, "Are you leaving me?"

Edward took one of his thin, bony hands in both of his, and looked him firmly in the eyes, "No, Jopson, I am not leaving you. Mr. Hartnell and I will rescue Captain Crozier, then we will come back. I swear to you, _we will come back_." He pressed his lips against Jopson's hand. "I need you to be strong until then, can you do that, Jopson?"

There were tears in Jopson's eyes, but his lips parted in a small, pained smile, "Yes, I can do that. I can do that for you."

When Mr. Hartnell returned, Jopson was asleep. Edward had opened the crate and started taking stock of their weapons. "There are four rifles, two pistols and two combat knives. We'll take everything with us, that way when we find the Captain we can give him arms. Dr. Goodsir too, if he's still alive."

Hartnell nodded, "What about the guards?"

Edward looked him in the eyes, "I'll take care of the guards. When it's safe, I'll raise my right hand to signal you."

The younger man looked at him worriedly, "Are you sure? I can help-"

"If anything goes wrong, I need you to be ready with the rifle to cover my back. Understood?"

"Yes, sir."

Edward took a deep breath, "Mr. Hartnell, you must understand, if things do go wrong, I need you to shoot to kill. Then when you're out of bullets, you _run_."

Mr. Hartnell immediately shook his head, "Sir, I could never-"

Edward reached out, gripping Hartnell's uninjured shoulder, "You _must_ Hartnell. The men in this camp cannot survive on their own. If anything happens to me, you must return to take care of them. _Please_. We cannot abandon them."

Mr. Hartnell slowly nodded, "Yes, sir. No matter what happens, I'll return."

Edward bowed his head for a moment, collecting himself, then he looked up and gave Hartnell a small smile, "Thank you. Now, let's go get our Captain back."


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Mutineer Camp.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: This chapter is going to have multiple perspectives (unlike the previous two chapters), so I've added a line of dashes to mark where the characters shift. 
> 
> Thanks everyone for comments and kudos. If anyone has any ideas they'd like to share, either for this fic or others you might want to see, please let me know in the comments thanks!

Despite the weapons slung over their shoulders, the rocks beneath their feet, and the stillness of the air, Tom Hartnell and Lt. Little moved as quietly as shadows through the night. Their plan was a simple one- Tom was to wait in hiding with most of the weapons while the lieutenant would circle the camp, take out the guards, and then return to Tom's hiding spot. They'd each take half the weapons and split up, searching the camp as quietly as possible until they found the Captain, and hopefully, Dr. Goodsir. Once the men were found, they'd all sneak away together.

Simple. As long as one ignored the millions of things that could go wrong.

There was no time for doubts now, the mutineers' tents coming into view. Lt. Little crouched, looking over his shoulder to make sure Tom followed suit, then nodded his head to a small hill of rocks near the camp. Silently they made their way over, ducking behind it. Lt. Little set his extra weapons down, keeping only one rifle and a knife, the better to move around quickly and quietly. Tom knelt down next to the pile, gripping his rifle tight.

Lt. Little looked him in the eyes and whispered softly, "Remember what we talked about. Our rifles are a last resort. The noise will awaken the camp and our chances of success will be done for."

Tom nodded, "Yes, sir."

"What else, Mr. Hartnell?"

Tom swallowed, "If we do have to use our rifles we need to shoot to kill. We can't afford the risk of an injured man picking up a weapon and shooting us in the back."

"That's right. And if I'm caught or killed, you will make a run for it."

Tom looked away. That was the part of the plan he liked the least.

He felt a hand on his shoulder, "Hartnell, I know you don't like it, but we must remember the sick. One of us must return to them."

Tom looked up at the lieutenant's kind, dark eyes. "Shouldn't that person be you, sir?"

A small smile curled the corners of Lt. Little's mouth, and he shook his head, "No, Mr. Hartnell, it shouldn't."

With that the lieutenant left the safety of their hiding spot, and silently crept towards the camp. 

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

There were only two guards watching over the camp, on opposite sides. Logically, it would've been faster for Edward and Tom to attack them at the same time and immediately start searching for the captain, but it was too risky. Tom was injured, and Edward feared he would not have the strength to overpower a guard. He'd be damned if he let one of these traitors hurt Tom again.

As Edward approached the first guard, he felt a wave of righteous anger overtake him when he recognized Des Voeux. The memory of the traitor carelessly shooting Mr. Hartnell was still fresh in Edward's mind, as was all the pain the poor lad went through afterwards. Edward felt no hesitation as he silently descended on the man, one hand over his mouth and nose, the other slitting his throat as deeply as possible. Blood began pouring out of the wound but Edward gripped him tight, keeping him from making any noise in his death throes. When Des Voeux finally stilled, Edward lowered the corpse to the ground, and moved on to the next guard.

Armitage died as quietly as Des Voeux.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Tom watched with relief as Lt. Little headed towards him. The lieutenant was not a particularly big man, no more than Tom himself was, and he feared the guards would prove too much. Thankfully, the lieutenant appeared uninjured.

Still, Tom couldn't help whispering, "You alright, sir?"

The lieutenant's expression was grim, but he gave a small nod, "I'm fine, Mr. Hartnell. Now, one of the tents still has a lantern lit, I'm going to check that one first. I suspect Mr. Hickey's tent is the one in the middle, bloody spider that he is, so avoid that one."

Tom nodded, "Which tent do you think I should check first?"

Lt. Little thought for a moment, "Mr. Hickey would want to keep an eye on the captain, but he'd also want some distance. Try the tent across from Hickey's. Sneak up _behind_ it though. That way if the little spider is awake, he won't be able to see you. Pull a couple pegs up from the back of the tent and peak under, see if you spot the captain or Dr. Goodsir. If it's anyone else, leave them. We can trust no one else here. Understood?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good, let's do this." Lt. Little grabbed an extra rifle and pistol, strapped them to himself and headed in the direction of the lit tent.

Tom headed toward the tent the lieutenant had pointed out. His stomach was tight with nerves, his heart pounding, but he moved silently through the camp, his every sense sharp and alert.

He crouched behind the tent and carefully pulled up two pegs, loosening the fabric wall enough that he could poke his head under. There were two cots, both occupied, but in the darkness Tom couldn't see anything but the shapes of the men. He would have to get closer. Slowly, carefully, Tom lowered himself to his belly and crawled beneath the tent wall. He stayed low to the ground as he approached the first cot. As his eyes adjusted to the dark, he recognized Mr. Diggle, the cook. He turned away and moved on to the other cot. Relief nearly overwhelmed him as his eyes landed on a sleeping Captain Crozier's face. With a quick glance over his shoulder at Mr. Diggle, Tom put a hand over the captain's mouth. Captain Crozier's eyes blinked open in surprise, but Tom quickly put a finger to his own lips, his other hand still pressed firmly to the captain's mouth. The captain nodded in understanding and Tom removed his hand. As Captain Crozier sat up, Tom silently removed one of the rifles from his shoulder and handed it over. 

Tom pointed to the back of the tent where he'd snuck in and made to move towards it. He was surprised by the captain's grip on his elbow. Tom turned back in confusion, and the captain tilted his head in Mr. Diggle's direction. Tom wasn't sure what the captain was trying to tell him. Was he asking if Mr. Diggle was asleep? Was he saying they should bring him with? Surely not. He was a traitor wasn't he?

The captain must have seen Tom's confusion because he leaned in and whispered very softly, "Mr. Diggle is a prisoner too. He's on our side, Tom."

Tom glanced towards the sleeping cook, then back to the captain, "Lt. Little told me to trust no one but you and Dr. Goodsir. If he's still alive."

"The doctor is still alive, and in need of rescue," Crozier whispered.

"OK," Tom nodded, "Good. Lt. Little will find him I'm sure."

He looked up to see the captain studying him. After a long moment Crozier asked, "Tom did you and Lt. Little come here _alone_?"

"Yes, sir," Tom found he couldn't meet the captain's gaze, "The others voted against a rescue. They decided to abandon the sick and continue south."

"Look at me, Tom," Crozier waited until Tom raised his eyes, "You've nothing to be ashamed of. I am not going to blame you for the decisions of others." He looked towards the still sleeping Mr. Diggle, "And I understand how hard it must be for you to trust others, after all that's happened. But I told Mr. Diggle I would help him out of this, and I mean to keep that promise."

"Yes, sir."

Tom watched as the captain moved to Mr. Diggle's cot, waking him with a hand over his mouth. The cook startled, but immediately calmed at the sight of the captain. Crozier leaned down and whispered softly, "Rescue is here, Mr. Diggle, but we must be quiet. We are still outnumbered by the mutineers." He waited until Diggle nodded in understanding then moved back to allow the cook to sit up.

"There's a small hill of rocks to the southwest. That's our rendezvous point. If Lt. Little and Dr. Goodsir, aren't there already, I'll go look for them." Tom realized, even as he spoke, that he was giving his captain orders. 

Crozier merely gave a small smile and a nod, "Lead the way, Mr. Hartnell."

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Edward knew approaching a lit tent was extra dangerous, as the occupant was likely awake and on the lookout. However, a lit tent also seemed to be the most likely place to find the doctor, as he would stay up to care for patients or write down notes. Once Edward felt he was close enough, he got down on his knees and crawled towards the entrance. There would be no sneaking behind as he'd told Mr. Hartnell to do, not with an awake occupant.

He pulled the tent flap open a sliver to peek inside. There, mixing bottles into a bowl, was Dr. Goodsir. Relief flooded through Edward at the sight of him. With the good doctor's help, there was hope for Jopson and the other sick men. Edward picked up a small stone and tossed it at the doctor's leg, hard enough to notice but not to hurt. The doctor immediately turned towards him, bracing himself...only to let out a soft gasp at the sight of Edward crouched down and peeking through the tent flaps.

Edward raised a finger to his lips then beckoned Goodsir closer. The doctor quickly put down his bottles and hurried over. "Lieutenant, what are you doing here?"

"Rescuing you and the captain." Edward whispered as softly as possible. "Grab what you can carry, quickly and quietly. We need to leave before the mutineers realize we're here."

Dr. Goodsir nodded, swiftly moving to pack a case of medical supplies. Once he was finished, he put out the lamp. The darkness would help cover their escape. Edward guided the doctor towards the rendezvous point, his stomach cold and tight with nerves. He had forgotten that Goodsir wouldn't be able to use the extra rifle, since his hands were full with his case of supplies. Edward stayed on the look out for movement and noticed three figures ahead of them, moving towards the rendezvous point. He stopped then quickly pulled Goodsir behind a tent.

"I saw three people headed towards the rendezvous point. Is there anyone you can think of that the Captain would trust to bring with us?"

Goodsir nodded, "The captain was put in Mr. Diggle's tent. It's most likely him."

"Can he be trusted?"

The doctor hesitated, "I think so, but I wouldn't give him a gun."

"Alright, stay behind me just in case." Edward looked toward the small hill, the three men had disappeared behind it. He gripped his rifle at the ready and started heading towards the rendezvous point once more. 

They were some twenty feet away when a shadow stepped out from behind the hill. Edward was about to raise his rifle when the figure started waving at him. The lieutenant quietly sighed in relief. Tom Hartnell was alright. Edward quickened his pace, Goodsir right behind him. When they reached the hill, they were quietly greeted by Captain Crozier and Mr. Diggle.

"Alright, Mr. Diggle, I'm going to ask that you carry Dr. Goodsir's supplies." Edward waited until Goodsir passed the case to Mr. Diggle, then handed the doctor his extra rifle, "Doctor, take this."

Captain Crozier looked down at the mutineer camp, "Are there others we should take with us?"

"Maybe Lt. Hodgson, sir?" Mr. Diggle whispered.

Edward was surprised to hear that Hodgson was still alive. While he'd never been as close to the blond lieutenant as he had been with Lt. Irving, he felt a pang at leaving him behind. Still, his priority was getting Captain Crozier, Hartnell and Goodsir to safety.

"I'm sorry, Captain, but we must leave. We have no idea when the next shift of guards will start, and the sick are waiting for us to return."

Captain Crozier turned to look at Edward, but it was Dr. Goodsir who spoke first, "I'm afraid I have to agree with Lt. Little, sir. We need to put as much distance between us and this camp before the next shift of guards start."

"I can look for Lt. Hodgson, sirs." Mr. Hartnell cut in.

Edward frowned, "Absolutely not. You were shot this morning, Mr. Hartnell, you need rest more than any of us."

Out of the corner of his eye, Edward noticed the captain's back straighten. The reminder of Mr. Hartnell's brush with death clearly cut the older man deep. "Lt. Little is right, Mr. Hartnell, we need to go." Captain Crozier turned to Edward, "Lead the way, lieutenant."


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: This story is coming to a close. I do have plans for another story, but it will be unconnected to this one. As with the last chapter, this one will be from multiple perspectives. A letter will be written in _italics_

The sun was high by the time they reached the remains of the camp. All but three tents had been taken away, and the camp was eerily quiet. Edward had Mr. Hartnell's good arm over his shoulder, supporting the younger man during the final stretch of the journey. He trusted the Captain and Dr. Goodsir to watch their backs, though it seemed the mutineers had decided not to pursue them. As they approached Jopson's tent, Edward felt cold dread twist his belly. 

"Can you stand for a moment on your own, Mr. Hartnell?" Edward asked softly.

Mr. Hartnell straightened up, though Edward felt uneasy at the way the young man swayed. "Yes, sir."

Edward lifted the flap of the tent and went inside. He wanted to check on Jopson before bringing in Mr. Hartnell in case...He gave his head a sharp shake then knelt down to Jopson's cot. The man was frightfully pale and still. Edward swallowed, then laid a gentle hand on Jopson's shoulder, "Lt. Jopson? Can you hear me?"

To his relief, Jopson let out a soft moan and turned his head. His eyelids flickered, but didn't open. Still, the man was alive and that meant there was hope. Edward rose to bring Mr. Hartnell inside. When he stepped out of the tent, he was surprised to see Mr. Diggle holding Mr. Hartnell in his arms. Surprise quickly turned to suspicion, but before he could speak Mr. Diggle started whispering.

"The Captain and Dr. Goodsir went to check on the men in the other tents. The doctor took his case of medicine with him." He looked down at Hartnell, "I noticed the lad swaying and tried to steady him, but he fell asleep on me."

It was true. Mr. Hartnell was clearly fast asleep on his feet. "Right, there's a cot in here he can rest on." Together Edward and Mr. Diggle gently maneuvered Mr. Hartnell into the tent and onto the extra cot.

The young man didn't wake up.

"He must be properly exhausted, poor lad." Mr. Diggle whispered.

Edward nodded, "We should check on the others."

They left the tent. The Captain was heading towards them, grim faced. "Handford and Smith are dead. Dr. Goodsir is doing what he can for Mr. Crispe and Mr. Brown now." He looked towards Jopson's tent. "How is Mr. Jopson?"

"Alive, sir," Edward shook his head, "Aside from that, I cannot tell."

Crozier's jaw tightened, and Edward could see the captain's struggle to keep his emotions in check. "A moment alone, please gentlemen. Though send the doctor as soon as he's able." With that, Crozier ducked into the tent.

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Francis gently pushed the hair away from Jopson's face, his heart tight in his chest. Poor, dear, loyal Thomas. How thin and pale he'd become. There was little hope to save him now. They needed good proper _fresh_ food for the man to survive and there was none to be found. Even if they resorted to cannibalism, as Hickey's men had done, it wouldn't be enough. Eating diseased, starved flesh would only lead to further disease and starvation. Gently he helped Jopson to sit up and propped some pillows and blankets to support him. The young man moaned at the movement, but didn't open his eyes. Francis took a pitcher of water down from a crate and poured some into a cup.

"Jopson, have a drink, lad." Crozier tipped the cup against Jopson's lips and massaged his throat to help him swallow. 

The cool water seemed to revive him somewhat. His eyes opened, "Captain?"

"I'm here, Thomas, I'm here."

Jopson smiled, his gums blackened and bloody, "I knew..." He trailed off, strength already gone.

Francis swallowed the lump in his throat, "Save your strength lad, have some more water."

Jopson nodded slightly, sipping at the water the captain pressed to his lips.

"Captain?" Dr. Goodsir stepped into the tent.

Crozier forced his voice to be steady, "Doctor, if you would check on Mr. Jopson first, I'll see to Mr. Hartnell."

"Of course, sir," Goodsir knelt next to Jopson, opening his case.

The captain turned to the sleeping Mr. Hartnell. Crozier frowned. Such deep and sudden sleep was worrisome. He needed to check the lad's wound. Gently he moved the blanket down to the young man's waist and began unbuttoning his clothes. Mr. Hartnell groaned in protest and groggily opened his eyes. Crozier forced himself to give what he hoped was a reassuring smile, "You're alright, Tom, I just need to check the wound on your arm."

Mr. Hartnell's eyes closed once more, mumbling, "Edward stitched me up."

Crozier was able to maneuver enough of the lad's clothing out of the way to take a look at his injury. It was an awkward angle, as Crozier had to lean over Tom to look at his arm, but he managed. The inner sleeves and bandages were bloodstained, a worrying sign. Gently he removed the bandage to peer at the wound beneath. Some of the stitches had torn, which explained the amount of blood, and there was quite a lot of bruising around the injury. Tears stung the captain's eyes. Had Hartnell taken the time to rest, his wound might've begun to heal. Instead, the young man had pushed himself beyond his limits to rescue his captain and now his injury was worse.

"I've done what I can for Mr. Jopson, sir," Goodsir whispered softly. "I can have a look at Mr. Hartnell, now."

Crozier nodded, "Yes thank you, doctor. I'll go speak with the others."

The captain stepped out of the tent, his heart heavy. What hope for fairness was there in the world, when men as bright, loyal and _good_ as Jopson and Hartnell were struck down so brutally young. What hope was there when a bitter, cynical old drunk like himself could outlive men who in a different life could have been his sons?

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Edward watched as Mr. Diggle opened a few of the cans to start the morning meal. The cook had insisted he'd had enough rest the night before, and Edward decided it was best not to argue. He understood Mr. Diggle's need to stick to some semblance of normality. Edward knew he should rest himself, but he couldn't shake the nerves that kept him awake and jittery. Instead, he paced around the remains of the camp. Marked down in his mind the direction of the boat tracks, kept an eye behind them for any sign of the mutineers. He heard footsteps approaching and turned to see the captain. The man looked years older than he had before he'd entered Jopson's tent.

"Sir?"

Crozier sighed, "We can't stay here, Edward."

Cold fingers tightened around Edward's heart, "What do you propose, sir?"

"After breakfast, we're going to dismantle one, possibly two of the tents. We need to build a sled. One light enough to drag, but large enough to fit the sick on."

Edward looked at the tents, "Four men pulling four men. It could work."

Crozier shook his head, "I'm hoping that after he gets some sleep and breakfast, Mr. Hartnell will be well enough to walk on his own, at least for a short while."

"Not haul," Edward was surprised at himself for the firmness in his voice.

The captain's eyebrows rose, but a small smile curled his lips, "No, I won't make Mr. Hartnell haul." The smile faded, "His arm is in rough shape."

Guilt rolled through Edward's stomach, "My fault, sir. I was the one to stitch him up."

The captain put his hand on Edward's shoulder, "You did what you could, Edward. Had his arm not been stitched up at all, he'd be in far worse shape."

Edward swallowed. He couldn't bear not telling the captain the truth. "When the others told me they'd voted to leave- to go against my plans for a rescue, to abandon the sick- I was ready to give up. I was ready to leave you, the sick, Jopson..." Edward took a shaky breath, "It was Mr. Hartnell who changed my mind. It was his courage, his loyalty that led to your rescue. Not mine."

Crozier was quiet for a long moment, "We have all had our moments of weakness on this voyage, Edward. Lord knows how strong I forced you to be when _I_ was at my weakest. In truth, I wouldn't have blamed you if you _had_ chosen to go with the others. Though I am very proud of you that you didn't."

Edward's throat was impossibly tight, "Thank you, sir."

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In the end, it took two of the three tents to build a sturdy enough sled to carry the three sick men comfortably, with room enough for the remaining tent and food tins. It would take the combined strength of Lt. Little, Dr. Goodsir, Mr. Diggle and Crozier to pull it. The captain had initially hoped they'd be able to start their move in the afternoon, but building the sled, and moving Mr. Crispe and Mr. Brown to Jopson's tent had burned through what little energy any of the men had left. Edward, Goodsir and Diggle were now sleeping in sacks near the remaining tent, while Crozier took the first watch. 

As exhausted as the captain was, he kept a keen eye on the land. The fact the mutineers had not tried to follow them made him strangely uneasy. Mr. Hickey was far too vengeful and wicked to simply let them get away. Something else must have happened. A small, optimistic part of him held out hope that perhaps Mr. Hickey faced his own mutiny. If Sgt. Tozer had had enough of Hickey's madness, most of the marines and some of the men might join him in mutiny. Perhaps they'd even wish to make amends with Crozier.

Unfortunately, Francis Crozier was not an optimistic man, and he suspected that something else had stopped the mutineers.

His morbid thoughts were interrupted by the appearance of Dr. Goodsir. "You need to rest as well, captain. I'll keep watch awhile."

"Did you check on the others?"

"As best I could with only the stars to see by. Sunrise shouldn't be far away, I'll be able to see better then."

Crozier nodded, "Thank you, doctor."

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Harry Goodsir stared out at the tundra all around them. It was strange, how only twenty four hours ago, he had been ready to end his life. In fact, he'd been mixing together his poisonous concoction when Lt. Little had come to his rescue. Harry was glad of it now. Even if he starved to death in a few days, he would at least do so in the company of good, honest men.

His thoughts turned to the survivors. He suspected the captain knew how slim the chances were for Mr. Crispe and Mr. Brown. Even Mr. Jopson, the healthiest of the three, had little hope. Harry was also deeply concerned for Mr. Hartnell. Despite Lt. Little's best efforts, the stitches had torn and the skin was not healing properly. Hartnell had lost blood he did not have to spare. Yet there was still hope, if only they could find food. They desperately needed food, not the cursed tins, but proper, fresh food.

To his horror, Harry's mind turned against him, reminding him of the "food" eaten at Hickey's camp. Would Captain Crozier, in desperation, sink to that level? Handford and Smith were already dead. Their bodies were covered only in thin layers of rocks, no one having energy to bury them properly. It would be easy enough to...

Harry shook his head. No. He had to stop. He couldn't continue to think that way. 

The rise of the sun, so early at this time of year, helped push away his morbid thoughts. He would check on the sick, keep himself busy, hold onto hope.

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They'd been marching some hours now, following the tracks left by Les Vesconte's group. Tom had offered to take a turn pulling the sled, but the others refused. Dr. Goodsir told him he needed to give his arm a rest in order for the wound to start healing. Tom was about to argue that other men had hauled with worse injuries, but held his tongue when he remembered that all those men were dead now. Still, guilt gnawed at him as he watched the others struggle.

Crozier held up a hand and the men stopped. Tom quickly grabbed a flask of water and carried it over to the captain. Each of the men passed it around and took a swig.

Dr. Goodsir moved towards the sled to check on the sick men. He knelt down and touched Mr. Brown's wrist. A frown twisted the doctor's lips and he pressed his fingers to the man's neck. Even before he spoke, Tom knew what he was going to say.

"Mr. Brown is gone, Captain," Dr. Goodsir sighed. 

The captain took a deep breath, "And the others?"

The doctor took each man's wrist in turn. "Mr. Jopson and Mr. Crispe are still alive, but very weak. I'll get some water in them, should keep them going until we're ready to camp for the night."

Crozier turned to Lt. Little and Mr. Diggle, "Gentlemen, if you could cover Mr. Brown's body?"

They carried Mr. Brown's body to a spot not far, where a small outcrop provided a touch of shade for the men to work.

"How are you feeling, Mr. Hartnell?" 

Tom turned to the captain, who was watching him with concerned eyes. Tom tried to speak with confidence, "I'm sure I'm getting better, sir. I'll be able to haul by tomorrow, I reckon."

The captain chuckled and shook his head, "You must be the only man I've ever known to be _eager_ to haul."

Tom tried to smile, "I just want to help, sir."

A sadness seemed to creep into the captain's eyes, "I know, lad. You've helped so much already. But I confess I do need more of your help."

Tom straightened his posture, "Yes, sir?"

"I need you to help me keep a promise, Mr. Hartnell." The captain looked back the way they came for a long moment before turning his gaze back to Tom. "Tonight, after we set-up camp and eat the evening meal, we'll talk."

Tom felt puzzled by the captain's words, but he nodded his head in agreement, "Yes, sir."

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Crozier stared out at the horizon. The men had finished eating and were getting ready to sleep. Once more, Crozier would be taking first watch, although tonight it would be Edward, not Goodsir, who would take up second watch. They had decided that it would be best if Goodsir stayed in the tent, close by if one of the sick men needed his aid.

The sound of footsteps on the shale turned his head. Crozier smiled as Tom Hartnell reached him. "You wanted to speak with me, sir?"

"I told you I needed your help to keep a promise. I imagine that was a rather...confusing thing for you to hear." Crozier pulled out a letter from his breast pocket and handed it to Mr. Hartnell. "This is a letter from Mr. Blanky to his wife, Esther-"

"You'll be able to deliver it to her yourself, sir, I know it!" Hartnell's eyes were wide, his voice panicked.

Crozier shook his head and put his hand on Tom's good shoulder, "At ease, son, at ease. I give this to you because Mr. Blanky didn't _want_ me to deliver it. He wanted you to." Hartnell looked down at the letter and Crozier continued, "He wanted you to _read it_ too."

Hartnell looked up in shock, "Why would he want me to read a letter to his wife?"

The captain squeezed his shoulder, "You'll understand when you read it."

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Tom watched as the captain walked away, then looked down at the letter in his hand. In truth, he missed Mr. Blanky fiercely. The Ice Master had taken him under his wing and taught him so much about the arctic, sailing and the ice. When the man had left camp after Captain Fitzjames' death, Tom had assumed he had gone ahead to look for leads. Mr. Blanky had said the kind of gruff goodbye to him he'd normally say when he had to go off for a few hours. It wasn't until he was gone for nearly a day that Tom had asked Lt. Little when Mr. Blanky would be back. When the lieutenant gently told him that Mr. Blanky had sacrificed himself for the good of the crew, Tom felt like he'd been punched in the gut. Now, he held a letter meant for Mr. Blanky's wife, yet for some strange reason, the captain insisted he read it. Tom carefully unfolded the letter.

_My Dearest Esther, if you are reading this letter, then you know that I am gone from this world. I am deeply sorry that I have left you. It has long weighed on my heart that I could never give you children to keep you company while I was away. Alas, children for us will never come to be, but perhaps for you there is some hope. If my final wish was granted, the young man handing you this letter is Thomas Hartnell. Never a better lad have I known, never a truer son to my heart. It is my great hope that he will be a comfort to you in your grief and you a comfort in his. All my love, Thomas_


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I admit I had some writer's block finishing this, but hopefully the conclusion works! Inuktitut is signified by [square brackets]

Edward arranged the last rock to cover Mr. Crispe's body. Beside him, Mr. Diggle shook his head, "I don't understand why the captain won't let us...I mean, we're so low on food and it's... it's not like we killed him."

Edward stood slowly and looked back at the camp. The fog was thick this evening, making it difficult to see the fire Captain Crozier had built, despite the fact they weren't far. "I'm sure the captain has his reasons."

Mr. Diggle sighed, "I know he does. But the cans are almost out and we _need_ some meat in us. We'll be burying Lt. Jopson by morning if we don't."

The thought of burying Jopson made Edward's stomach twist in knots. Still, a part of him had come to accept that they would all die soon, and it would be better to accept that death with dignity. Edward looked towards the camp, "I confess my own hope is nearly burnt out, Mr. Diggle, but I can understand why the captain refuses to...take that step."

Edward started heading back to camp, but Mr. Diggle grabbed his arm, "It's not myself I'm worried about, you understand that, right sir?"

"I know, Mr. Diggle," Edward said softly, "You're worried about Lt. Jopson, as am I."

Mr. Diggle nodded sadly, "I'm worried for Mr. Hartnell too. The lad tries to hide it, but he's not doing well."

The knots in Edward's stomach squeezed tighter, mirrored by a steadily growing lump in his throat, "We should get back to camp."

Mr. Diggle released Edward's arm and they started walking . It wasn't until they were nearly upon the campfire that Edward noticed Captain Crozier holding a hand out to him, signalling them to stop. Edward immediately froze, watching Mr. Diggle freeze out of the corner of their eye. Squinting through the fog, Edward could just barely see a massive shape on the opposite side of the fire, about five metres away.

The Tuunbaq had found them.

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Francis Crozier stared through the flames and smoke of the campfire, directly into the strange, monstrous face of the Tuunbaq. He understood now, why Hickey's men had not tried to hunt them down. The creature's fur was covered in blood. Behind him, the captain could hear Edward and Mr. Diggle come to a stop. He prayed the creature's focus on him would prevent it from noticing their arrival, but the creature's eyes shifted and Crozier knew the other men had been noticed.

The Tuunbaq moved forward until it loomed over the fire. Then the monstrous creature began to convulse. It made a horrible, deep, growling sound then vomited onto the fire. The stench of smoke mingled with rotten putrid flesh, and it took every drop of Crozier's willpower not to retch. The Tuunbaq reared onto its hind legs and roared. The sound seemed to echo for miles.

To his horror, Crozier felt himself stepping _towards_ the smothered fire. He looked down through the smoke to see gore covering the broken pieces of furniture they'd used as kindling. As he stared, the blood, guts and body parts became more clear to discern. A hand, a leg, the lower half of a jaw bone...

Captain Crozier wasn't sure how, but he _knew_ that at least some of these parts belonged to Cornelius Hickey. He looked up once more into the Tuunbaq's eyes. It seemed the monstrous creature was taking his measure, deciding whether he was worthy of life or death. Suddenly, the creature dropped back to all fours and turned away, disappearing into the fog once more.

For several long moments no one moved or made a sound. Crozier was still staring after the Tuunbaq when he felt a hesitant hand touch his shoulder. "Captain?"

Crozier turned to look into the wide dark eyes of Edward Little. The younger man was clearly shaking, but was fighting his fear in order to check on Crozier's well-being. The captain felt touched by his second's concern and he found himself pulling Edward into a comforting hug. "I'm alright, Edward. I think...I think that was the Tuunbaq's way of telling us it is done." 

There was a rustling sound to Crozier's left and he watched as Dr. Goodsir stepped out of the tent. He stared at the gore covered remains of the fire. "We should add more kindling to get the fire going again. Burn the...burn the...burn what's left." 

The captain nodded, "Yes, that would be best."

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Tom hadn't been able to see what was happening outside of the tent, but he could hear everything. As Dr. Goodsir had peeked cautiously out of the tent flap, Tom had left his cot to crawl next to Lt. Jopson and huddle against him. He told himself it was to protect and comfort the sicker man, but in truth he was desperate for some sense of comfort himself. 

Dr. Goodsir looked over his shoulder at them and whispered softly, "The creature is gone. I need to check on the others."

Tom opened his mouth to protest, but Goodsir was already gone. Instead he looked down at Lt. Jopson, cradled in his arms. To his surprise, the other man's eyes were open and watching him. The lieutenant rarely opened his eyes anymore. "Would you like me to get you some water, sir?"

Lt. Jopson's pale lips twitched into a frail smile, "No, Tom, just hold me."

For a long moment they held each other in silence. Despite the horrors of the evening, Tom felt himself growing tired. He got tired so easily these days. Just as he started to sag from exhaustion, Tom was woken by the lieutenant's voice, "Take care of them for me, will you Tom?"

Tom blinked sleepily and looked into Lt. Jopson's eyes, "Of course, sir. I'll do my best."

That frail smile returned, "Captain Crozier is like a father to me and Edward..." Jopson's eyes glistened, "Edward I love like no one else."

Tom swallowed thickly, "You should tell them such things yourself. I can go get-"

"No, please. Stay with me."

For the second time that night, fear started to choke Tom Hartnell. This time from a very different source. Lt. Jopson seemed to feel the cold hands of death upon him, and Tom felt helpless about what to do. He was about to call for help when he heard the doctor's voice cry out.

"Lady Silence?"

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Never had a woman looked more beautiful to Harry than Lady Silence in that moment. She dropped the rope of the sled she'd been dragging, moved forward and cupped his face in both hands. He brought his own hands up to cover hers, as they leaned towards each other, pressing their foreheads together. Tears slid down his face, and he could tell from the sound of her breathing that she was crying softly too.

"[I thought I would never see you again,]" Harry whispered softly.

A shaky, gasping breath, told him she felt the same.

After several more moments of holding each other, Lady Silence reluctantly pulled away. Harry remembered that the others were still here, patiently waiting while Harry and Lady Silence had their reunion. She turned to the other men, then looked down at the fire. Somehow, Harry knew that she knew what had happened with the Tuunbaq. She pointed to a spot a couple meters away from the fire and made a few gestures.

Harry understood what she was trying to say, "She wants us to build a new fire."

Lt. Little tilted his head in confusion, "What for?"

Lady Silence pointed to her sled, and for the first time, Harry noticed what was on it- a whole, fresh seal. Hope lit him from within, "We want a clean fire to cook our supper over."

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Edward gently helped Mr. Hartnell into a seated position on his cot. Across from them, Captain Crozier did the same for Lt. Jopson. Lady Silence entered the tent with two plates of cooked seal meat and passed one to the captain and one to Edward. She had kindly taken the time to mince the meat very finely, so it would be easy for the sick men to eat.

The smell of cooked meat made Edward's mouth water, but he knew Tom needed to eat first. Edward held the plate, while Tom carefully scooped small spoonfuls into his mouth. Jopson was too weak to even lift his spoon, so the captain patiently fed him. The important thing was both sick men were eating, and that meant there was hope. Edward looked up to thank Lady Silence, but she had already slipped out of the tent, no doubt eager to be with Harry. Edward could hardly begrudge her for that; not when she had brought food, hope and another sunrise for all of them.

After Hartnell had finished eating, Edward helped him get cleaned up and ready for bed. Then he helped the captain do the same for Jopson. Only once both Toms were comfortable and sleeping did Edward and Crozier leave the tent to get their own dinners. 

As they approached the cooking fire, Mr. Diggle stood up to hand them plates. He gestured to a couple folded blankets comfortably close to the fire, "Try to get comfortable, sirs, you've earned a rest."

The captain set himself down with a soft groan and Edward found himself doing the same. He was exhausted and ached all over, yet he felt in lighter spirits than he had in months. Edward bit into the seal meat and found it the most delicious mouthful he'd ever had.

"Where are Harry and Lady Silence?" Crozier asked after finishing his first bite.

"Harry decided to do first watch. They're doing a walk around the perimeter of the camp." Mr. Diggle said.

Edward looked up nervously from his food, "Does Lady Silence think the Tuunbaq may come back?"

Mr. Diggle shook his head, "No, I think they just wanted an excuse for a little privacy."

Edward smiled, "Fair enough."

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A week after Lady Silence had brought them the fresh food, the little group had arrived at her people's camp site. Captain Crozier had originally planned to look for the rest of his crew first, but the Eskimo camp was closer, and he did not want to risk Jopson or Hartnell's delicate health. He had been worried that they would not be welcomed by the Eskimos, given the mutineers' murder of the Eskimo family, but Lady Silence must have somehow explained the situation. The Eskimo leader offered them food and shelter, so long as those who were able would help them in turn. Crozier agreed, asking only that he be given time to search for the rest of his crew.

The look of pained sympathy on the man's face was like a punch to Crozier's gut.

Still, he felt compelled to ask, "[Have your people found them? Were there no survivors?]"

"[I am sorry, but all we found were dead and gone.]"

After that, Crozier threw himself into helping the Eskimo as best he could. Over the coming months, he watched as Edward learned to help them hunt seals, as Dr. Goodsir and their healers shared medical knowledge, as Mr. Diggle helped them prepare meals. He watched as Thomas Hartnell and Thomas Jopson grew strong and healthy again, as Harry and Lady Silence fell in love.

When James Clark Ross came to rescue them, a part of Crozier felt pained at the thought of leaving. But he had promised to get them home, and Francis Crozier would see his promise through.


End file.
